


left your silhouette

by Fictionalistic



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, Pre-Relationship, accidental angst with a hopeful ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 05:25:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10735032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fictionalistic/pseuds/Fictionalistic
Summary: Cat recounts regrets, and finds herself missing another person she left behind.





	left your silhouette

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd and purely driven by my Supercat feelings.

Sometimes, Cat regrets leaving.

Diving, she knows, is what she needed. Tearing herself from her old attachments - no matter how precious (but not Carter, _never_ Carter) - and creating new ones to sustain her desire to grow... it's not as easy as she makes it look. It's not a surgical cut. It's Cat straining from her roots, relying on them to keep her anchored even as she reaches new heights.

While she usually never looks back, this time, she is sorely tempted to entertain the "what-if's" laying dormant in her mind. It makes her clench her jaw, grind her teeth, to think that her thoughts would dare betray her like this. (Again. There's a reason why she's so desperate to keep Carter as her top priority, no matter what.)

The scenarios start off blandly enough.

What if she had stayed a day, a week longer, kept Catco within her reach before letting it all go, held on just a little longer before releasing Kara from that hug... What if she had stayed in National City, put off diving for another year, stayed late a few more nights on her balcony watching her hero's silhouette cut through the sky on the way to protect their city, finally reached for Supergirl's hand during one of their evening meetings and said, "I'll still be here for you," leaned in a little closer and brushed a long curl behind her ear and let her hand linger along the column of her neck like--

It's a nightmare of a run-on thought come true.

When she closes her eyes against the bronzed sunset half-way across the world from home, all she can see is her legacy swimming in uncertainty, and within it, the figure of a woman she can't help but feel like she abandoned. Kara's strong, perhaps not in the way Supergirl is typically seen as strong, but it's in the earnest conviction in her eyes as she fiercely speaks the truth and the kindness she's not afraid to show in the face of so much cruelty. She's not helpless. She can stand on her own.

But still, Cat worries. Whenever she finds herself thinking about Kara, she scrolls through their past text messages. Most of them are related to the job: scheduling meetings, canceling afternoons, planning events, "Caesar salad topped with a burger, chop, chop." But in between are the signs of growth in their relationship - light quips, discussion of Carter, both of them speaking of Supergirl in a tentative way that has them toeing the line between boss-and-employee and hero-and-muse. She even permits the occasional excited emoji usage. (Always in moderation, though Cat has an undeniable fondness for using the winking emoji. It has a tendency to create a rather flustered assistant, which, while unhelpful in the office, always makes Cat unusually pleased at the sight.)

When she peruses those texts, she sometimes sees three little dots pop up along the bottom of her phone screen. They bob up and down, pause for a while, and then continue to bob. This happens several more times before the dots disappear, and it becomes apparent that no text is forthcoming. It's a small comfort to know that Kara still sees her as someone to talk to, but what's the use when there's never a message sent? Since Cat's left, there have been no Kara texts. No "Good morning, Ms. Grant! Layouts are on the desk. I'll be in the art department if you need me!" or "Your mother has RSVP'd to the charity tonight. M&M's on your desk!!" peppered with sunny Danvers sentiment, apparent even when no emojis are present.

It's been radio silence. After she left, Cat had expected a phone call or two, maybe a text, but there had been none.

So, tonight, she stands on another balcony in another city with her finger poised over her phone's call button. With one touch, she could reforge that connection. Her pride has her hovering indecisively over the phone screen, but in the end, she just lets her finger drop.

"Hello?" Kara's sleep-rough voice washes over Cat, relief pouring through her at the sound. "Ms. Grant?"

When Cat doesn't reply, Kara's voice becomes more clear, more urgent. "Cat? What's wrong?" She can hear the rustling of sheets. Of course, it's nighttime in National City.

And then, "Kara, who're you talking to?" Cat bristles at the sound of that voice.

"Cat?" She can hear Kara sternly shushing whoever Cat had heard in the background.

"Kara." She manages that one word, fits all the apology she can in those two reverently-spoken syllables, and hangs up. There's a heaviness in Cat's chest now, a feeling of something in her stretching taut, pulling her back where she knows she belongs.

Kara doesn't call back.

Instead, Cat goes back to bed, even as the sun is cresting the horizon.

And when she stirs, awoken by the warm cast of sunlight across her face, she hears a muffled swish of curtains, and there she is: Kara Danvers, bedraggled in sushi-emblazoned pajamas and a frown of Supergirl proportions creasing her face.

Cat throws an arm over her eyes, and barely manages to restrain a groan. God, what a sight for sore eyes, but--

"Please tell me no one saw you flying in your nightclothes."

Kara ignores Cat's dramatics with aplomb, advancing toward Cat's bed. "You called me and said my name in a... in _way_ and hung up and-- Cat, I thought you were in trouble!"

Cat can see nothing behind the arm still thrown over her face, and is in no hurry to remedy that, not when a hot flush of what she remembers as embarrassment is making its way up her neck. "I'm fine," she murmurs, her voice small like it never is.

She feels the mattress dip down next to her. Kara's warmth reaches her, even through a luxuriously thick duvet.

"I don't know, Cat." Kara pauses, shifts a little uncomfortably next to her. "I'm sure that... _I'm_ not. Not right now."

Cat peeks out from under her arm to see Kara sitting next to her, back propped up against the headboard as if it's the only thing keeping her upright. She remains quiet, knowing that that's not the end of what Kara needs to say.

"It didn't start out that way. I took your advice: I dove. I set out to make my own waves, and ended up overwhelmed and distracted and totally off the path you set me on. I don't know how to get back. I'm just so tired and lost. Adrift."

Finally, Cat licks her lips and speaks, almost tentatively. "I didn't set your course for you, Kara." When she sees Kara about to protest, she briskly continues. "No, you were well on your way long before I showed you that reporter folder. Think about it: it wasn't me who made the decision for you to protect and love the whole of National City. You stepped up to that all on your own; it only makes sense that you would step up in other ways. What did I say about doubting your own brilliance?" Her voice sharpens at last, and instead of seeing Kara shrink away, she's surprised to see Kara perk up as if buoyed by her words.

"I really missed you, you know," Kara says a little shyly, her voice cracking just enough for Cat to notice.

Cat moves to sit up as well, leaning in against Kara's shoulder and half-ignoring the light frisson of excitement that runs down her spine at contact. They sit like that until the sun's fully settled in the middle of the cloudless sky and the morning light gradually ebbs out of the room. They don't speak. Somehow, they both know this isn't the time for words.

Carter finds the two of them shoulder-to-shoulder, fast asleep, Cat's head nestled against Kara's neck and their hands just barely touching on top of the covers.

_I know. I missed you, too._


End file.
